Running away
by BlueEyes444
Summary: Post DH. Draco can run only so far, so long. /Slight HarryDraco.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or the style, I've written in.**

**For Hannah. Happy birthday! :)**

**Note: written entirely in lines of six words.**

**Inspired by: Amy is Rockin's **fantastic Glee fic, _we were almost a tragedy _ and **greenconverses **and her amazing PJO fic, _Stockholm. _

* * *

He settles in a little town,

in the middle of Italy. No

magic, war, where no one knows

who he is. Anonymous at it's

best. New name, new life, new

everything. Except memories. He'll never

escape those, no matter how hard

he tries, they'll always be there.

/

He's heard that America is beautiful

this time of year. He hopes

it is. He could use some

kind of beauty, right about now.

/

He finds himself in the city that

never sleeps and he thinks he'll

fit right in here because he

doesn't sleep a lot, not anymore.

Not in a very long time.

/

He stays in New York for

a week, the longest he's allowed

himself to stay in a place.

He might have stayed longer if

a girl didn't recognize him. He

hasn't Draco Malfoy in such a

while, he almost forgot that's his name.

/

He's in a nameless city, in

a nameless country, where everyone has

secrets and a story to tell. He is Dan

Mitchell this week, and he spends his

days drinking away memories and nights

composing a letter that he'll never

send. He doesn't stay long here.

Burns the letter before he leaves.

/

He's in Mexico, he thinks. All

the cities and countries start blurring together

over time so he's not really

sure if it really is Mexico.

It doesn't matter. Nothing really matters.

/

He's always known that one day

someone from his old life would

find him again. In all his

fantasies, he never expected it would

be Harry Potter of all people.

/

"How did you find me?" he

asks, tired, tired of everything. He

is cautious, on guard, not sure

what to expect from him yet.

They study each other with open

curiosity, and he thinks that the

other man hasn't changed very much.

Still haunted, still intoxicating, still not

his. A shrug is the answer.

The silence between them is thick.

/

After a minute Harry says, "Your

mother sent me." Green eyes stare.

It's unnerving how they seem to

be looking into a scarred soul.

"Did she now?" he asks, bored

of this game they're playing. "Why?"

Another shrug. "She's worried about you.

Thought maybe I could find you."

/

"I didn't want to be found,"

he snarls, angry, angry at

who or what, he's not sure.

/

Harry sighs, looks weary, fishes a

crumpled letter from his coat, holds

it out. "Here." He recognizes the

handwriting. Turns to the door. "Want

you gone by the time I

get back." He leaves, shuts the door

behind him. What he would give

for a drink right about now.

/

He walks the beach for a

while. Let's himself remember everything he

has been trying to escape for

the last two years. By the

time dusk has fallen, he is

more then ready for a drink.

Damn you, Harry Potter. Damn you.

/

When he goes back, there is

no trace of any visitor ever

being there. He is not sure

if he's disappointed, angry, or indifferent.

He decides on indifferent. It's easier.

/

He goes to Canada next. The

whether is cold, and bitter. It

fits his mood almost too perfectly.

/

He stays there for a month,

living in a secluded town, where

nobody asks your business and the

only excitement is the occasional bar

fight. It is kind of nice,

in a tragic sort of way.

/

He travels to Paris next and

there is something about Paris in

the Spring that he loves. As

he looks at the window of

his hotel room, he thinks that

it kind of reminds him of

home. He doesn't like Paris anymore.

/

Before he can leave this doomed

city, he wakes one morning to

find Harry Potter in his room.

He's not really surprised.

/

"What do you want?" he asks,

even if he knows the answer

already. Harry smiles, and there is

something unrecognizable in his eyes. Maybe

it's pity, maybe judgment, maybe both.

"Are you ready to go home?"

No, he's not. Not yet anyway.

"I'm not going back," he says,

and he's not sure if he's

trying to convince himself or Harry.

Harry sighs, looks tired, like he's

expected this answer. "Fine."

"What?" He wasn't expecting this answer.

"I'm staying with you," Harry says.

He settles into the chair, smiling slightly.

"Where to next?"

/

He has no idea why Harry

is staying, why he will not

leave. Any other time, he probably

would have ditched him in some

place. He hasn't realized just how much

he craved someone's company until now.

/

They travel to Alaska, Brazil, Australia.

They don't talk, don't do anything

besides run from country to country.

It's nice, this companionship, they have.

/

Until it isn't. Until he can't

take it anymore, can't take anything.

"Why are you here?" he demands.

Harry raises an eyebrow, smiles in

that infuriating way of his. "I'm taking

you home, when you're ready." He

eyes the half drunk alcohol bottles

that line the floor of the room.

There's no pity to be found.

/

"Why?" That's the only thing it

seems he's capable of asking, anymore.

/

Harry says,"I know about running

away, Draco. You can't do it

forever." He knows it's true, no

matter how much he wishes not.

"Take me home," he says. The words

don't taste as bitter as he

had thought they would. He smiles.

/

There's no forever in running but

maybe there could have been a

forever for them, in another life.


End file.
